


I got myself in a mess and without you I'm in more

by serpensortiaqueer



Series: Diego/Klaus | but good things are coming to me [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Age Play, Crying, Desperation, Dom/sub, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Incest, Light Bondage, M/M, Omorashi, Praise Kink, Pseudo-Incest, Thumb-sucking, Under-negotiated Kink, Watersports, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 12:54:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18571912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serpensortiaqueer/pseuds/serpensortiaqueer
Summary: Rivulets of his piss even creep along the dusty old rug beneath Diego’s knees, but he doesn’t much care. Nothing can distract him from how fucking beautiful his little brother is when he’s as debauched as he is. Shattered and glittering like a struck mirror. Musky with the scent of his own piss. Near-ruined at Diego’s gentle insistence.





	I got myself in a mess and without you I'm in more

**Author's Note:**

> Me: *shocked and disappointed that a mainstream Netflix show didn't go with the omorashi & incest angle half an hour into episode six*  
> Also me: Let's fix this. Minus Diego's injured arm, because that will be more fun.
> 
> As mentioned in the tags, the scening here is massively under-negotiated. This is bad BDSM etiquette, remember to be safe, sane and consensual friends. 
> 
> Title taken from Zayn's _There You Are_.

“Ahh shit!”

“ _What_?”

“I need to pee…”

Diego pivots on a heavy heel, slowly, slowly, his next exhale stalled in his chest. Klaus fixes him with great big bush baby eyes; exaggerated by smudges of kohl and gleaming in the hazy low light of the attic. It’s a sight— Klaus backlit and brooding, all olive skinned and darling like an old Italian painting. Diego snorts his held breath out through his nose and Klaus’ lower lip catches against his teeth, as though he’s sure that the exhale is a precursor to some loss of temper he ought to expect. _Where did he learn that_? Truthfully, Diego doesn’t want to pry too far, he has to keep himself from imagining the bastards his brother had no doubt tangled with surviving on the streets. In their there and then, whatever had happened before means that Klaus quickly drops his gaze down to his lap with quiet, genuine guilt. _Okay well, shit_. Barefaced lying would be easier for Diego to bark back at. As it is, his response is almost fatherly— had their actual father modelled any sort of paternal patience— a thumb and finger pinching between his brows—

“Seriously, buddy? Are you quite sure?”

His brother’s responding squawk is like that of an indignant little bird, aghast that Diego would assume him a liar, “Duh! Of course I’m sure!”

 _Okay_. But the crisscrossing of rope securing Klaus to the wooden chair is complicated. Diego had considered each deft loop and pulled them all taught until they bit into Klaus’ bare shoulders. Made their presence, their purpose, known. He can’t bring himself to unravel that right away. It’s more than rope.

“Well, sorry. No. You’re gonna need to hold it,” He says decisively.

Utterly scandalised is something Klaus wears as well as any stolen skirt, even with bindings keeping his arms from choreographing an expressive dance of _how dare you!_ He flares his nostrils and flutters his lashes and says more than Diego often manages to communicate in a month. It’s quite something and it keeps Diego watching him rather than pivoting back around again, simply leaving Klaus to his predicament.

The bound man sighs, “I…do really need to, you know. ’m not attempting a Houdini, no clambering out of the bathroom window and shimmying down the drainpipe for me sir, not today. Quick pee, shake-y shake, back in this chair faster than you can say, ‘boy that was fast, Klaus.’”

What’s quite strange, is that Diego finds himself believing him, despite the niggling logic that he should suspect the worst where Number Four is concerned: Klaus disappearing away a family heirloom he can barter for a little baggie of cartoon-faced pills. Diego doesn’t actually give a shit about the Hargreeves crest emblazoned silver, but he gives more than a shit about Klaus poisoning himself with laced MDMA. That’s what’s gotten them here. He can’t let Klaus back out now. He isn’t sure that he’d actually get him back into the chair, that he has the energy to fight for it should he need to. 

So, he makes no move to untie any knots, but he does crouch down, resting his hands on Klaus’ thighs. Not quite consciously, his splayed fingers knead at the leather beneath them. It’s a tender touch, meant to calm, “I trust you, buddy, I do.”

Klaus jerks his eyes back up to Diego’s with an almost comical double take. When was the last time someone had voiced anything close to trusting in him? “You-you do?” 

Diego nods quickly, “Yes. But all of these knots took a while, didn’t they? Will we have the patience for them again? Once you’ve been? So. Can you hold it for me, Klaus? You’ve been such a brave boy already, asking for my help like this. Taking these big steps to sober up. Confessing those secrets. Let’s keep this momentum up.”

After some brief consideration, Klaus nods too, “I _have_ been a brave boy.”

“A big, brave boy, and big boys can hold their pee, I think.” 

Klaus’ first not entirely considered response is to be surprised by the approach Diego is taking; to tilt his head and narrow his gaze into a squint to get a better read on the set of Diego’s shoulders and the line of his lips. They’re softer than he expects them to be. _But_ , he thinks, _that isn’t all that unexpected_. Diego has always been the one to step up as his (big) brother, to take charge when Klaus is too vulnerable to protect himself. A bear to Klaus’ bird. A looming shadow for Klaus to slip beneath.

Diego’s fingertips are still smoothing over his thighs, too. It’s all rather nice. Diego’s lit up gorgeously by the window Klaus has his back to, and he’s touching Klaus with care. As though Klaus is something porcelain and important. 

Unsure of what sorts of things he might find himself asking of Diego, Klaus can’t bring himself to verbalise any more agreements. He does fidget as much as the bonds will let him, struggles to shrug all sheepishly. The lamp to his right catches the tear tracks on his cheeks and Diego feels them as a tug on his heartstrings.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” He whispers, one hand coming up to cup Klaus’ cheek, “You going to wait it out for me then, please?”

Klaus’ bottom lip is sucked back between his teeth but his eyes have sharpened into focus. _God, but yes_ , all he wants is to make Diego proud. Managing it is such a rare occurrence and yet every time he does, some damaged part of him is healed. He does, and maybe he always has craved Diego’s validation and affection far more than he ever did Daddy Dearest’s. He’d wound himself around Diego like a pesky kitten growing up, needling away until Diego acknowledged him with a fleeting touch to his elbow or fond huff. Nipped him with little fangs just to hear a _no!_ that didn’t actually contain any venom. Diego has always been softer for Klaus than for anybody else (bar maybe Mom). 

Now, he’s gifted with one of Diego’s rare but warm smiles, one that lifts all the way to his dark eyes and gives Klaus’ funny feelings behind the bow of his ribcage, “Yeah you are, I knew it. You’re going to do so well.”

Were he not currently being held captive, Klaus would at least make a show of finding Diego’s manner ridiculous as a half-hearted defence mechanism. Roll his eyes and reel off a spree of witty one-line comebacks with much melodramatic flourishing. As it is, with the press of Diego’s big hands on his smaller thighs, the rub of the rope on his bare skin and his full bladder, Klaus can’t come up with anything decently self-deprecating. 

Were he not currently tied to a chair, Klaus would probably follow that up with giving in and going belly up beneath Diego; he’s already near shaking with how much he wants Diego to murmur that he’s as good a boy as he is a brave one. To be his boy would mean getting to give up all of the difficult things that had been weighing heavy on his bony shoulders — the slow desperation of sickening with withdrawals and worse. The wretched curse of going cold turkey and heartbreak simultaneous. He’d not have to be anything, to feel anything, that Diego was not dictating to him.

Diego would only dictate good things, he thinks, right now. 

The shuddering of his own chest breaks Klaus him from his reverie and he’s surprised to find himself crying again. He doesn’t try to stem the flow of tears. He lets them be.

Full lips skim over the tears sliding down his cheeks and a calloused palm brushes through his hair. “What have you seen, Klaus? What’s up in there, that’s pushed you all the way to here? Why have I just tied you to a goddamn chair for quality bro time, eh?”

Klaus manages a weak giggle, but it bubbles with more crying. _God_. “I can’t, I can’t…” He begins, but Diego can’t bear to watch the terrible tremble that runs through his brother’s lip as he hiccoughs in search of the right words—

“Okay, okay. Klaus? You know what, that’s okay. This is probably enough already, hey?” He pauses, weighing his next three words with the sincerity they deserve, “My little boy.” 

Swallowing down his next flurry of sobs, Klaus touches his fingertips to Diego’s where they’re still resting in his lap, “Your very bestest bravest boy?” He whispers. His words are wet but they’re hinting at his being hopeful. He sounds younger than his years, a child winding down from a time-out tantrum and expecting the _I love you_ and hug that follows. 

It’s a good sign. Diego’s guessing at what he ought to be doing, but the results are right so far. Somehow, he always has known how to manage Klaus. 

“You know, you’re actually my only best boy.” 

Finally, thankfully, Klaus beams— his toothy grin breaking through his tears like the first, insistent beam of sunshine through a storm cloud. With a fresh crackle of electricity in his green eyes, he wiggles impishly, “And because I’m your best boy… I get to go pee? Yes? I thought so! Wowwee, thank you!”

Anyone without an in-depth understanding of Klaus Hargreeves and his chaotic inner-workings would no doubt recoil at this sudden change in mood. They’d lose their footing on what had, only seconds ago, seemed like steadily saddening ground. Diego’s no expert, not after their time apart, but thankfully he’s no novice, either. He can weather the rollercoaster that has been always been their maddening but enchanting Number Four, even before he hit his teen years and fought back against the shackles that Reginald demanded be in place. 

Klaus has always responded well to Diego’s gentle authority, far more so than he did their Dad’s cane, “Mhmm, sure. Since you’re so desperate and all.”

“Okay… so just?” Klaus makes a bit of show out of looking all around at the various knots and ties he’s secured with, “Surely you have a knife on you that could make quick work of these? Choppity chop! Ha! That was a pun! Anyway, sort of hurting now.”

With both hands back at Klaus’ lap, Diego’s thumbs stretch to dig into the join of his thighs, blunt nails grazing against his dick. Oh, but Klaus’ full body shiver is magnificent, as is the latent sob that follows. Shallow but anguished. Piss is beading at the head of his cock and he’s so sure Diego will know, will laugh at him not being able to hold it like the adult he ought to be. 

“Hurting, huh?” Diego doesn’t laugh. Instead, he makes a clucking sound that he’d learned from forever clinging to Grace’s apron strings. Concerned. “Oh, little one. Then I suggest we remedy that.”

Klaus, bless him, looks vaguely perplexed for a beat as he tries to make sense of Diego’s words despite the distraction that is the insistent press of his brother’s broad thumbs up near his cock and his overwhelming desire to just give in and let go. _Little one_ had been nice. _Little one_ had felt so safe. But what was the remedy if Diego wasn’t idly playing with a knife as he spoke, ready to slice through blue fibre?

Realisation dawns alongside two patches of pink high on Klaus’ damp cheeks. He’s even more bewitching when he’s flushed up. Diego wants to mouth at the feverish heat of it. “Do… do I gotta go in my panties?” He cries out in a rush of adrenaline and agony.

 _Yes_.

Bringing one hand back to scrub against the back of his own neck, Diego only half-shrugs— feigning disinterest masterfully. The window light does wonderful things again, ghosting over the planes of his muscles. “I mean, you don’t have to? It’s just, I thought you were both horribly desperate and needing me to keep you under control. As it is, I’ve decided not to let you up from this chair. So, it would seem that we’re going to have to compromise.”

That pout which follows Diego’s explanation is a thing of absolute wonder and Diego can’t keep from darting forwards and stealing it right from the source, chasing Klaus’ delicious little grumbles with a lick of his tongue and swallowing them down. Greedy for Klaus’ need, “I’ll still be here for you. Promise, little buddy. Am I not doing a good job of looking after you, knowing what you need?”

“But-but I’m brave,” Klaus keens, voice breaking. Diego had _told_ him that, more than once. Is he still, with the wet spot hidden but blossoming on his briefs?

“True, so true, Klaus,” Diego agrees easily, leaning in for another kiss, something slower and more sure of itself. A proper slotting together of their mouths, “But maybe, just maybe you’re not so big?” His hand nudges against his brother’s cock again, palming upwards. Trapped beneath clammy leather and zipper, it twitches for him and Klaus hisses sharply, tensing his abdominals tight enough to feel a burn. His breathing keeps coming out short in quick, panicked pants. 

“I’m a _little_ brave one, and if I pee in my pants, you-you can fix it? After?”

For that, Diego gives Klaus a proud little squeeze ( _what a clever boy he is_ ), “That’s right! Your Diego can fix it, little bro. I’ll carry you all the way down to the tub and change you into fresh panties, if you so desire. We’ve just got to see through this whole tied to a chair business. It’s important, and you know that, don’t you? That’s why you came to me for help.”

As he speaks, Diego kneads Klaus’ tender little pouch of stomach, marvelling at how it’s become distended. Biteable. _Fuck, but he’s perfect_ — just about narrow enough that Diego can spread his hand so that it overlaps between his tummy and his cock, meaning that he can bother both at once and make himself feel even more the big brother. Take Klaus in-hand and show him what it is that he actually needs. That’s a thrill, one that Klaus wriggles into, despite himself. Fighting his bindings.

“You wouldn’t tell no one, would you?” He checks, with a cute frown.

Diego hums, “Oh you know… maybe just Luth-“ He stops just in time to shush another of Klaus’ horrified squawks with his mouth, his touching becoming slow, comforting circles where he can feel Klaus straining with need, “No, little one. Not a soul will know. Just for my littlest brother and me, yeah?”

Ideally, Diego would love to untie Klaus and hold him through his desperation but he reminds himself that that would be doing away with the whole point of this exercise— which has become twofold since they first made their way up into the attic with a bundle of rope and a babbled explanation about cravings and self-control. In front of him, Klaus is whimpering, but somehow he is coping, too— breathing through his hurricane of feelings and watching Diego with a heart shuddering amount of absolute trust. 

He fastens his teeth tight to his lip as the first full stream leaks from him and Diego eases it from the attack with his thumb, “Don’t hurt yourself, baby,” He admonishes. Klaus hurts himself in all sorts of ways, and Diego will have to do more about that, but right now he can at least keep that rosy pink lip from becoming bloodied.

“But ’s coming now…” Klaus whispers, eyeing his own lap warily.

“Yeah, little one, you’re peeing now.”

“Sorry,” Klaus gasps as the proper rush of it hits him, but Diego shakes his head quickly— 

“Hey baby, no, not sorry, you tried so hard to hold it but you’re not a big boy yet, I know.” Klaus lets out a broken sob, and Diego finds his thumb at Klaus’ mouth again. This time, it’s an offering of something to soothe Klaus as his damn breaks, “You need this, kiddo?”

Nodding with urgency, Klaus swallows the proffered thumb right to the root. He suckles it earnestly as he gives in and in no time at all he’s utterly soaked himself. It floods his leather-clad legs, pooling in his socks and Converse. Rivulets of his piss even creep along the dusty old rug beneath Diego’s knees, but he doesn’t much care. Nothing can distract him from how fucking beautiful his little brother is when he’s as debauched as he is. Shattered and glittering like a struck mirror. Musky with the scent of his own piss. Near-ruined at Diego’s gentle insistence. 

Klaus shakes through the last waves of it and with his tongue curling fiercely beneath Diego’s thumb, doesn’t manage another word until it’s over and the last of his pee has dribbled from him. Rather unceremoniously, considering the build-up. His jaw drops to reveal his red red mouth and his teeth and he clamours for a desperate rush of oxygen around Diego’s thumb. The stuttering of it as though Diego had gotten a grip on his windpipe. _Next time_.

“Oh gosh, little one, you really were desperate— and I almost didn’t believe you.”

Klaus’ eyes are gleaming again, and his tongue is working still at Diego’s thumb, but he lets it go to roll out his bottom lip, “Wasn’t tricking you, ‘Ego.”

That’s something new, _Ay-go_. Diego likes it rather a lot. Klaus is small, just a baby who can’t keep quite wrap his mouth around Diego’s full name and keep himself from having accidents, even when he’s awake, and _Ay-go_ is his big brother who’ll make it all better.

Once he’s watched, of course.

“I know, you’re such a good boy, huh? Do you feel all better now you’ve been?”

“Mhmm, ‘Ego.” 

Klaus has gone all lax beneath his bindings, his head dropping to the back of the chair and his whole body pulsing with a sated, sleepy energy. If he weren’t tied down, he’d surely float. His bladder and tummy feel better for one, but the giving up of control to his big brother had been more cathartic than he can shape with words. The attic ripples around him like a dreamscape and above him, Diego is smiling a smile Klaus is sure is reserved for him. Ben’s seen it, too, has teased him about it to make him happier on bad nights. It’s equal parts fond and wolfish and full of love.

“ _Heyyy_ ,” Diego moves in for another kiss, careful not to startle Klaus as he litters his nose and cheeks with them too, tasting his remaining tears, “I’d give you a gold star sticker if I had any on my person, you did so well, but since I don’t…”

Curiously, Diego runs his hands against Klaus’ lap again and his poor little lamb’s dick chubs up obediently from even the suggestion of being touched. Probably chafing where it's trapped against sodden leather, filthy with baby boy innocence.

“Reward?” Klaus tries hopefully, his hips rolling up at Diego, as much as they can manage, “I’m a good boy, huh?” He implores, using those big green eyes of his to his advantage again. 

He is though, is the thing. He’s such _a goddamn good boy_ , who can be relied upon to come scurrying to Diego, knowing full well that his big brother is the best thing for him. Diego wants to feel that again and again. And then, again. Klaus seeking him out and sinking to his knees for him, rather than doing it for whatever sleaze of the week is his dealer; Klaus tucking himself small and safe into Diego’s hold and sucking at his thumb. He thinks Klaus might let him have it, have him, too. Be his baby.

“My best little boy. Even if he’s covered in his own pee-pee. Come here, you.”

Klaus' jaw is sticky with his tears and almost too delicate under Diego's palm as it curves flush to it. Diego watches his pupils blow out into the delicate semi-precious jade of his irises and guides his head back to get an eyeful of his undulating throat. As he swallows, Klaus' jaw jumps like a tic. Diego could break it, could snap the bone if he so desired. Instead, he uses his strength to force open his brother's mouth and plunges his tongue in, taking what he's been wanting for as long as Klaus has been desperate to lose all composure. It's an aggressively one-sided sort of kiss and it's all the more glorious for it. Strands of saliva quivering and snapping between them, Klaus' trapped wrists straining so that his shaky hands might get a grounding hold on Diego as his tongue is sucked almost from his skull. 

Diego understands his addiction then, if the drugs Klaus uses are even half as intoxicating as himself.

"Pl-please, please, 'Ego please," Klaus babbles between the next heady collision of their swollen lips, his toes curling painfully in his piss-soaked socks, "Please touch me. Please."

"Yeah?" Diego grunts, "Is that what you need? You need your big brother's hand on your dick, even though it's been sat in your pee? You want my hand on that?"

Klaus just nods weakly, too tightly wound to speak. All over again. 

"That's so dirty, little one." Despite his words, Diego isn't too rough with Klaus. Could never be, not really. He keeps kissing at him as he works down the zipper of his ridiculous trousers, from his cupid's bow to the very edge of his parted lips, down to the scruff of his chin and back, all the way up to the fresh spill of tears that slips free as Diego works the shape of his erection through his soggy briefs. Pre-come seeping out of Klaus to mingle with his urine. He gets harder still beneath Diego's calloused touch, wants to wrap his thighs around Diego's strong forearm and grind his still clothed dick against it. Instead, all that he can do is rock the chair legs in desperation. Whine gutturally. As soon as they're skin-to-skin he won't last seconds and Diego will know for sure what a hold he has on him. "Got you, got you," Diego assures him, words damp and scalding where they hit beneath Klaus' ear, "Got you little one, you ready? I need words, baby."

When he doesn't get an immediate reply, Diego snaps the elastic of Klaus' underpants and finally hears a little squeaked _yes, yes please_. 

"Good boy."

There's no need for Diego to spit into his hand before he fists it properly around his little brother's cock. Klaus is so wet for him already, slicked up and dripping like a girl. It's as vivid as a fever dream, crowding him and touching him like this, what should be the gross sound of the squelch of it just making Diego's mouth water. Klaus can barely move beneath him and yet he's far from still- his tummy muscles have their own ripple under his rucked up tie-dye tank and the rise and fall of his chest is panic attack fast. He's vibrating under his skin and mewling more loudly with every flick of Diego's wrist. The noise of them together in the otherwise abandoned attic is obscene; Diego wants Reginald’s ghost to be lingering in one of the dusty corners, seething.

“Yeah baby boy, Diego’s here. You’re all mine.” He utters, staking his claim by digging his thumbnail into the salt of Klaus' slit.

After that, it only takes a few more pumps of Diego’s fist for Klaus to become entirely undone once again. It’s perfect, the waxy ribbons of it spurting over Diego’s fingers as he milks his orgasm dry, touch lingering just long enough for Klaus to shiver with sensitivity. A broken _oh oh oh_ is all Klaus has to give with it but _God_ , it makes Diego actually coo. It’s the sweetest sound he’s heard in a long, long time. So quiet where Diego had expected Klaus to be loud. Diego shushes at him anyway, petting his hip and his hair and murmuring the lovely kind things that he's often thought about Four but never found the right moment to say. _You're so so fucking pretty, Klaus_ , and _you're so special Klaus, you're so pure_. He keeps mumbling lovesick nonsense as he unsheaths one of his knives from its holster and makes a start on snipping at the cat's cradle of rope holding him like a full body hug.

Once he’s cut him free, Diego takes his time ever so carefully checking every inch of Klaus over. He lifts each of his limbs to massage the feeling back into them and rubs gently over the welts the ropes have rubbed into his skin, making mental notes of where they lie so that he can follow up on them. Sat back on his haunches, he even wipes away the bleeding smears of kohl from beneath Klaus’ eyes and does what he can to finger comb the tangles from his sweaty hair.

Honestly, Klaus looks every bit as wrecked as he had before, but he's humming in relief as Diego administers the touches. Diego doesn’t leave is the thing, doesn't become suddenly disgusted by the way Klaus is having to sit in own cooling pee and come. Instead, he kisses his forehead and skims his scarred fighter’s knuckles against his cheek. Klaus’ eyes lay closed and his lashes look like scraps of frayed, inky satin. He thinks he may have found peace.

“You with me, little one?”

“Didn’t go nowhere, ‘Ego.”

Diego can’t keep himself from grinning at Klaus’ reply as he scoops him up from the chair and cuddles him close, nose only wrinkling slightly at the scent of piss drying on him. One hand settles beneath his bare ass, briefs and trousers so tight they've stayed put at his mid-thighs, and the other braces its self between his sharp shoulder blades. Klaus is especially clingy at that moment, of course— lost to his drop and the soft sweetness of his post-orgasmic bliss. Diego has just pulled him apart, tugged from his bladder, now he needs to be the one that pieces him back into a real boy. (And then applies ointment to the bits that are stinging on the outside.)

“Your cock…” Klaus whispers directly into Diego’s ear from where his cheek is smushed in against Diego’s shoulder. He sounds almost awed by the feeling of its hard girth rubbing at his hip bone and Diego can’t help but let that feed his ego. _That’s your big brother’s big dick baby, all for you_.

“You can return the favour once we’ve showered, you. Come on, my little wet one,” Diego makes a move to carry Klaus to the nearest bathroom, one floor below and rarely visited by any of their siblings. As he shifts him into a bridal style hold to make it easier, his eyes catch on the glossy smear of spunk that Klaus has left on his black shirt, “Oh God, you’re so sticky now too, how do I get myself into these situations?”

By way of reply, Klaus just presses a moist, clumsy kiss to the pulse point on his neck, and Diego is fucking done for. He buzzes like tv static for the spent boy in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> I pre-plan my writing in bullet points. All I had for the handjob was 'PORN GOES HERE. More kisses as he wanks him off. Describe wank. Nice. Describe it well, you’ve got tough competition'. This fandom will be la petite mort of me.


End file.
